


feels like you're mine

by annejumps



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Bottom!Erik, Edgeplay, M/M, Mutant Politics, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-26 00:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10775436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: Erik realizes that at some point, he’s started taking it as a given that he will in fact eventually sleep with Charles Xavier, and it’s just a question of when and under what circumstances.





	feels like you're mine

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [kitaoroshi](http://kitaoroshi.tumblr.com/) for bidding on me for [Fandom Trumps Hate](https://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com/)! And thank you for being patient!

The (plastic) handcuffs are out and the officers are just turning him roughly to face the side of the van when a familiar English-accented voice calls out, deceptively calm with an underlying steel: “Excuse me, officers, is there a problem?”

The din of the chanting, whistles, and drums that make up the protest surrounding them fade away as Erik struggles against the officers’ holds. 

_Calm down, Erik. Please. Give me a moment and I’ll have you out of this mess._

Telepathy. That could only mean—

“Charles Xavier,” Charles says to the officers, who’ve now started treating Erik a bit less roughly, distracted by Charles, who’s no doubt offering his fucking hand to them like they’re all at a fucking garden party fundraiser—

Charles’ voice is polite and friendly enough as they exchange rather tense pleasantries, but there’s still that steel tone underlying it, letting everyone present know he’s not expecting to be dismissed. “I hope my husband here hasn’t been too much trouble,” he says smoothly, slight emphasis on _my husband_. Erik struggles once more, wanting to break free and ask Charles what in the hell he’s trying to do.

 _I said calm yourself_ , Charles tells him, _or I’ll make you_ , adding that almost as an afterthought, leaving Erik still with surprise. Could Charles—? Would Charles—?

“I’ll get him home straight away,” Charles adds to the officers, sounding expectant. “We won’t trouble you any further. Come along, darling,” he says to Erik, as Erik’s arms are released from the officers’ tight grips. Erik whirls to stare at Charles; he looks right back, calm, hands in the pockets of his khakis, and jerks his chin just slightly, a warning in his blue eyes. Erik starts striding off away from the van, Charles falling alongside him, walking fast to keep up with Erik. 

“What exactly was that,” Erik hisses. “Getting me out from arrest like a misbehaving child on a field trip. The fucking leader of the Mutant Brotherhood being _let go_ if he promises not to do it again.” In front of all those people, he thinks, feeling his face turn red.

“The leader of the Mutant Brotherhood being kept in police custody in a special plastic room with no metal in the vicinity,” Charles returns calmly, “with orders to be transported to the Pentagon for special questioning.”

Erik stops short. “How do you know what they’re—”

Charles cocks a brow and points at his temple.

“Fine,” Erik snaps. “If you’ll excuse me, I was here today for a reason,” he says, and stalks off, looking to find Emma and Azazel. 

_Not even a thank you?_ Charles sends after him, with a surprisingly light, teasing tone as he adds, _That’s no way to treat your husband, darling, don’t you think?_

\-------

Erik hates Charles Xavier.

 _You do not, oh my God_ , Emma thinks at him, rolling her eyes and tapping her French-tipped nails on the table. _You’re obsessed with him. For someone who’s barely ever spoken to him in person, you’re—_

“Oh, shut up,” Erik mutters. “That doesn’t mean I can’t hate him.”

“You don’t hate him,” Emma says in a tone of great finality. Erik finishes his beer. He’s exhausted and hot and he wants to go back to his flat and shower and go to sleep. This protest has not gone at all as planned—he wanted to get arrested, dammit, and then make a statement from jail. Charles had screwed everything up, damn him. The one time he wanted to get interventionist—

“He probably saved your life,” Emma says in a low voice. “I’ve never seen a government reaction quite like this—I’ve never seen an executive order like this, come to that. Something was up. They were going to make an example out of you.”

“Were you planning to do anything to stop them at any point?” Erik asks dryly.

“If they came after me, sure,” Emma says. “You have to know how valuable I’d be to them. Charles as well. We’ve obviously got clear advantages here so far, but…. It’s scary, Erik. This is a frightening time. Deporting immigrants? Detaining mutants?”

“I have family who were murdered in the _Shoah_ , Emma, I know how this goes,” Erik says tersely. 

“We are all in danger,” Azazel says, “no matter our powers.”

Suddenly Erik needs to be alone. “Azazel, can you drop me off at my flat?” he asks, pulling some bills and change out of his pocket and setting them on the table next to his empty bottle. Azazel rolls his eyes (“I am not taxi”), but after Erik rebuts that he shouldn’t be driving, he and Erik disappear in a puff of smoke, and the next thing Erik knows he’s in his flat. 

It’s dark and quiet here, and cool, and finally he can have some time to himself. To rest. To think.

So it’s very annoying, although not entirely unexpected, when he almost immediately finds himself thinking of Charles.

Then he’s startled when his phone dings. A message. “Dammit, Emma,” he says as he picks it up. But it’s not a number he recognizes.

_Would being married to me be that bad? ;)_

Erik’s reply is speedy. _Are you drunk?_

_Only a little. Stressful day and all. I may have saved someone’s life. May I call you?_

Erik’s knee-jerk reaction is to refuse. He wants to sleep, to be alone. But then he realizes he really, really wants to hear Charles’ voice in his ear. _Yes_.

His phone lights up with a call. “Erik,” Charles says, sounding almost surprised, and delighted. Erik sighs inwardly; his charm, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world, were things Erik had found he was not entirely immune to, much to his chagrin.

“Yes, Charles. You called me.”

“I did. Erik, I know we’ve had our disagreements in the past—”

“Get to the point, Charles.”

“—But these are darker times than we’re used to. We need to react with more than just mutant bookclubs and bake sales—”

Unbelievable. “If you haven’t noticed, Charles, the Mutant Brotherhood has moved well beyond that level of things. If we ever were at that level. It’s life and death.”

“I think we ought to join forces,” Charles says, and Erik flashes back to Charles saying “my husband” as he—

“Did you make those officers forget who I was?” Erik asks.

“For a short time, yes. Not entirely, however. I knew you wouldn’t appreciate the reasons for your infamy being erased from the minds of local law enforcement.”

“So I suppose you assume I owe you a favor, then.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t put it that way. I don’t keep track of such things; seems awfully transactional, and that’s not a way in which I like to conduct my affairs. That said, however, there is such a thing as ‘I scratch your back, you scratch mine.’ And we do have a great deal in common, Erik, you know. I often get the feeling you think of yourself as a lone warrior, fighting against everyone and everything in the world, but it doesn’t have to be that way, do you know? Now then. Don’t you think we can be friends?” Charles asks, confidence—smugness, Erik thinks—laced through his tone. He gets the sense he is someone being Dealt With, and that Charles assumes the deal is about to close.

But Erik doesn’t want to be _friends_ with Charles Xavier.

“No,” Erik says, and ends the call.

\-------

Naturally, the next time there’s a Brotherhood meeting his cab is late because of the rain, and when he gets to Azazel’s building Charles is outside with an umbrella, in his tweed blazer and khakis. Erik tries to simply walk past him, but Charles turns and strides alongside him as Erik walks in. Closing his umbrella, Charles says to him, “May I accompany you?”

“To our secret meeting? No you may not,” Erik replies. The elevator arrives then, and Erik steps inside. He watches the doors close on Charles, who’s watching him with a sort of teacherly disappointment that grates.

“You look cross,” Emma observes when he arrives. “Moreso than usual, even.”

Erik ignores her. “First order of business,” he says, hanging up his raincoat and starting the meeting.

“Erik has a stalker,” Emma comments as she files her nails. 

Azazel snorts. “Xavier?”

Erik glares at him.

“How did you know?” Emma asks sweetly.

“Sleep with him and get it over with,” Azazel says with a wave of his hand. Erik can’t even say anything to that. Emma dissolves into laughter.

“There’s no ‘getting it over with’ with Charles Xavier,” she tells them. “One way or another, you’re sucked in.”

 _That_ wording gives Erik a mental image that causes him to sharply inhale. Emma smirks at him.

“How do you know this?” Azazel asks, chuckling. Emma points at her temple, and Erik is relieved to learn that she hasn’t slept with him herself. She laughs.

“I’ll put it this way, sugar,” she says to Erik. “If Charles Xavier wanted to know what we talked about at Brotherhood meetings, he’d have other ways of finding out, no problem. But that’s not his way. He’s not after that. He’s after _you_.”

\-------

 _Sleep with him and get it over with_ , Azazel had said. And the first part would be just that easy. He’d only have to text Charles to come over, or go out, and one thing would lead to another and they’d go to bed. Hell, he’s sure he could directly proposition Charles, no preamble required, and be accepted. But that part isn’t the problem; it’s the “getting it over with,” the getting Charles out of his system. Because Emma’s right—it’s not that simple.

Charles would be a distraction. And Erik can’t afford a distraction right now. The stakes are too high. Right now, mutants are being catalogued, surveilled, stopped at borders and searched just for being mutants. Detained. How much longer until there are camps?

He can’t help thinking about it, though. What Charles might be like. He thinks of Charles whispering in his ear, murmuring all sorts of obscenities in that charming English accent, nipping at Erik’s earlobe just hard enough to make him gasp, kissing down his neck with those soft-looking red lips. He’d have that slightly arrogant, assertive manner that Erik occasionally finds grating, the way he expects people to do what he wants—in bed, that would take on a totally different cast, one that makes Erik shiver. He thinks of seeing Charles’ calm, sky blue eyes hot with desire, all of his intensity focused on Erik, just Erik….

With a sigh, Erik sinks into the couch and turns on the TV. He refuses to have a wank while thinking about Charles Xavier. Not tonight, anyway.

 _He’s after you_ , he remembers Emma saying as he tries to fall asleep that night.

\-------

Erik realizes that at some point, he’s started taking it as a given that he will in fact eventually sleep with Charles Xavier, and it’s just a question of when and under what circumstances. 

“Stop beating yourself up about it,” Emma tells him, starting to get bored. “If you want to sleep with him, sleep with him.”

“But then he’ll endlessly subject me to pitches on his ‘superior’ methodology regarding fighting for mutant rights,” Erik returns.

“He’s going to do that anyway. Might as well get some orgasms out of it.” Emma shrugs.

“You yourself said there’s no way of just ‘getting it over with’ with Charles,” Erik points out. 

“Maybe you’ll be the exception,” Emma says dryly. “Look. Sugar, would you be happy continuing to not sleep with him?”

“It might just be a phase,” Erik says.

Emma rolls her eyes. “Wouldn’t you rather just see for yourself? This isn’t going away, apparently. Face it head on. Sleep with him.”

“If I sleep with him and we get involved, if I don’t ‘get him out of my system,’” Erik says, “he could jeopardize, compromise all of my plans.”

“Erik, I admire your ability to focus with laserlike intensity on a goal,” Emma says, “but if you don’t have an outlet, you may snap. Besides, he could possibly help you with—” At the look on his face, Emma stops, and sighs. “Fine, I’m dropping it. But get it together, Erik. Focus and completely forget about Charles, or somehow incorporate him into your life. If it’s not meant to work out, you’ll move on.”

“I just don’t want to get distracted,” Erik says.

“Sugar, you’re already distracted.” 

\-------

Erik texts Charles, asking if he wants to meet for coffee. The reply is almost immediate; Charles suggests a cafe that has chessboards, after asking if Erik plays. Thus Erik spends an entire Saturday morning—he’d wanted something in the evening, the better the likelihood that he’d be invited to Charles’ place immediately afterward, but Charles had a conflict, which did not at all make Erik wonder if he was seeing someone—playing chess in a crowded coffee shop. 

He feels shockingly at ease with Charles, who seems perfectly comfortable with him, posture casual but still obviously that of someone with wealth and manners, someone a little bit vain. There’s surprisingly little awkwardness between them. Charles acts as though it were a given that he and Erik should pass time playing chess and drinking coffee. The silences that fall between them aren’t strained, and Erik doesn’t feel the need to artificially fill them—not that he would, if he did.

Charles is also obviously charmed by him; he watches Erik’s moves closely, with barely disguised delight and interest. Erik can’t help preening a little, feeling like he’s showing off, smirking back at him. Maybe they can just be friends.

“Erik, I thought I might ask you to dinner on Friday,” Charles says as he ponders his next move, a little pointed, eyebrow raised as if he’s caught the timbre of Erik’s thoughts. “If you’re free.”

Erik observes the board, pretending to be considering. “I should be free that evening,” he says. “But Charles, if you think you’re going to wine me and dine me in order to get into and influence the inner workings of the Brotherhood—”

“Oh, that’s not what I’d like to get into,” Charles interrupts smoothly, moving his piece before sitting back and taking a long drink of coffee.

Erik sits back as well. “I thought you were interested in being friends, Charles,” he remarks. 

“I think it’s possible for people to be friends and something else to each other, something beyond friends,” Charles replies. “Erik, I’d like to be on good terms with you, whatever those terms may be.”

Erik looks at him skeptically, but says nothing more. They continue playing; Charles wins the game. 

Erik decides not to take it as an omen.

\-------

Via text, Charles tells him about a steakhouse he’s heard great things about that also happens to be quite close to where he lives. It’s not subtle at all and Erik has to smile. It’s beginning to sink in that this really is going to happen.

But just as soon, Erik starts telling himself that Charles can’t possibly be worth the hype; he’s building him up too much in his mind, and he’s sure to be disappointed one way or another, so he really ought to downgrade his expectations.

Then there’s the very real notion that once he’s sampled Erik, he’ll just move on to someone else. For all his doggedness, he is known as a flirt. And like himself, Charles is a planner, a schemer. It’s possible that, after all, Erik won’t fit into his plans.

Erik dresses in a crisp white shirt and charcoal suit. Charles is dressed in black, with a sky-blue shirt. It suits him. He looks to be in irrepressibly good spirits, and he also arrived before Erik did, which ruffles him—he’s used to being pointedly punctual. 

It is indeed a nice steakhouse, high-end, not really the sort of place Erik would know about because he doesn’t really pay attention to such things. Charles, being wealthy, knows all about it and the little niceties and mannerisms that accompany his station, like second nature. 

“Erik,” he says over the appetizer, “I’d like your thoughts on how we can best organize for a march. I was thinking one about two or three months from now, a rather large one, specifically about mutants. We’ve been involved in a number of multi-issue large-scale marches, but I think it’s valuable to focus on our specific needs.”

“Which are?”

“Our need for acceptance, primarily. Understanding.”

Erik shakes his head. “Our need for liberation.”

Charles raises a brow. “Don’t you think acceptance and understanding will lead to that?”

“No, I don’t.” Erik gives him a pointed look. Charles’ amused interest is more than a little grating, like Erik is an object of curiosity. At that point, the entrees arrive, interrupting them. But soon enough, Charles is prompting him again. 

“So acceptance and understanding are of no value?”

Erik shrugs. “They’re irrelevant to the issue of liberation.”

“Really? Building goodwill is of no value to you?”

“You’re of the ‘you catch more flies with honey’ school. If the flies are trying to kill you, flypaper is right for the job.”

Charles laughs. “Could you not gain some value from persuading the flies to not kill you in the first place?”

“Not if it’s in their nature to kill what they’re threatened by.”

“So there’s absolutely no point in persuading... humans... not to kill us?”

“Are you pretending you don’t understand your own research on the mechanics of evolution and survival of the fittest?”

“Are you claiming that mutant survival is predicated on the deaths of baseline humans?” Charles looks at him very seriously. “Sounds an awful lot like eugenics to me.”

Erik stares at him. “You know I’m Jewish, Charles.”

“I do. So it makes it that much more surprising when you use violent rhetoric.”

“I’m not using violent rhetoric, I’m describing the situation. You can’t possibly believe there’s a comparison—”

“Our steaks are getting cold,” Charles says calmly. “No, Erik, I just think there’s value in thinking about the kindest way of doing something.”

“Not if the kindness is a lie! You said yourself we’re the next stage in human evolution. They’ve demonstrated they won’t simply let themselves die out.”

“If it’s inevitable that they’ll die out then what is the point of unnecessary cruelty? Let us try to work together while we can.”

“They won’t work with us. They hate us, they fear us.”

“Mm.” With seeming calm, Charles ate his steak. “You seem to feel they are right to.”

“You know what we can do, what we’re capable of. I could completely destroy this restaurant. You could make everyone in it go mad.”

“I can, but I won’t.” There’s color in Charles’ cheeks.

“They don’t know that. Once baseline humans know what you’re able to do, Charles, they will never be able to trust you. You can never truly be open with them.” 

Charles sets his jaw; there’s real anger in his eyes. “You assume I can be open with mutants, Erik? My own adopted sister, the girl who grew up with me, doesn’t trust me with my powers. And she can change her appearance to match anyone she’s seen. Even the mutants who know who I am don’t know everything I’m capable of.”

“Perhaps you’ve been around the wrong mutants.”

Charles laughs, and it’s a little cynical but there is some genuine rueful amusement. “That’s quite a line.” His expression softens, a certain vulnerability discernible in it, and Erik’s fascinated, and a little pleased with himself. 

“I don’t need a line, you asked me to dinner,” Erik responds, triumphant.

“True enough,” Charles says, raising his glass. “Cheers.” He takes a drink. “Now then, back to the question at hand—how might we best organize for this march?”

“Are you trying to woo me into giving you the Brotherhood mailing list?”

Charles brightens. “You have a mailing list?”

“Of course not,” Erik retorts, “we’re a secret society.”

Charles sighs. “Would you like any dessert?” he asks as the server approaches. “They do a lovely New York cheesecake.”

“No, thank you.” Never much of a sweet tooth, Erik’s always found cheesecake to be too rich.

“Right.” Charles raises an index finger for the bill, and the server departs again. “Coffee and chess at mine, then, maybe a nightcap?” he says with deliberate casualness, looking levelly at Erik, awaiting his response. 

Erik nods, but says nothing, and drinks the rest of his wine, covering his compulsive need to swallow suddenly.

\-------

Charles has his car pick them up, which amuses Erik. 

“Not a good look for someone trying to lead a populist movement,” he says, teasing this time, and Charles laughs.

“Well, you’re with me, so if anyone sees us, your reputation is on the line as well.”

“Too right,” Erik says under his breath.

\-------

Chess, after coffee, is quickly overshadowed by another heated discussion. 

“Did it ever occur to you,” Charles says with deceitful pleasantness, sitting back after having made his move, “that it might be in the best interest of all mutants if we tried to incite as little violence and retribution as possible? Or are you determined to ensure we’re killed? Is there any price you won’t pay? Is it fine as long as it’s not you?”

Erik stares at him. “You think I want to see our people killed?”

Charles sighs, rattling the ice in his scotch. “All I read from you is ruthlessness and intensity. I can’t say I don’t find it attractive and compelling, but Erik, a completely uncompromising stance—it’s complete rigidity, it allows for no adaptation.” He frowns. “Think of a bridge being built. It’s got to have the ability to bend under weight, to bend in the wind, or it will snap.”

“You’re explaining bridge construction to an someone with an engineering degree?”

“So then you already grasp my meaning.”

“Construction principles have no bearing here. One has to have convictions, Charles.”

Charles leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You think I lack conviction? I’m almost as stubborn as you are.”

“Principles, perhaps.”

“I don’t lack principles, either. Our principles simply differ. Perhaps not as much as you think.” He sits back again, regarding Erik quietly, legs crossed at the knee. There’s something about Charles’ manner that makes him seem never out of place or uncomfortable; it’s a way of putting people at ease or in their place that Erik thinks must be very useful. Erik has no problem projecting an attitude of authority, but Charles’ way is nonetheless interesting. Perhaps it’s easy for him, because of his powers—even if he’s not actively using them, he must be conscious that, at heart, that he could.

“You’ve made little use of your telepathy this evening,” Erik notes.

“I’m saving it for later,” Charles says simply, corner of his mouth turning up and a twinkle in his eye, and for once Erik has nothing to say. He suddenly remembers Emma smirking.

But he can’t let Charles get the better of him. “Is it a finite resource, then?”

“It’s a managed resource,” Charles says, and adds, “I don’t want to overwhelm you.” His mouth quirks.

“You assume I’m not up to the challenge?”

“Oh, I’m sure you are. It’s just…. It can be a bit much. Emma may have told you.” There’s a question on Charles’ face; Erik realizes that he wonders, but won’t ask, if Erik has slept with Emma.

“My relationship with Emma revolves strictly around the Brotherhood. We don’t usually discuss such things.” That isn’t entirely true, but surely Charles gets the message.

“So you don’t have much experience with telepaths.”

“Nothing other than fighting Emma off when she tries to rummage through my mind.”

Charles laughs. “Emma. I think you can handle yourself—you’ve a slight resistance to mindreading, something of which I think you’re aware—but if you like I can teach you more advanced shielding.”

“Wouldn’t that stop you from—”

“It would, but I want you to feel comfortable with me and not as though you’re at my mercy.” Charles stands, and walks over to the bar; Erik stands and follows. “More scotch?” Charles asks, back to him. As he turns, Erik tips his chin up and kisses him. He hears Charles fumbling blindly to set down his glass before Charles has both hands on his jaw, pulling him down (Charles is shorter than Erik, although he doesn’t really seem to be) and pressing up to kiss him, wasting no time sliding his tongue into Erik’s mouth.

As kisses go, technically it’s nothing remarkable. Charles is a good kisser, unsurprisingly. But he’s breathing hard, and he’s pressed closely against Erik—he’s so assured, so focused on Erik that Erik wants him even more than he already did. And he’s finally doing it, he’s finally kissing Charles, those soft-looking red lips.

He can sense his mind now too, he realizes, unfurling around them like an invisible mist, waiting patiently and steadfastly for Erik, for this to happen.

\-------

When Erik first meets Charles, it’s at one of Emma’s fundraisers. Erik has always been opposed to the idea of fundraising for the Brotherhood or for any other related mutant ventures, but Emma points out, rightly, that they do need money. To that end, she’s invited a number of wealthy acquaintances. 

One of them is exceptionally handsome, pale with sleek dark wavy hair, on the shorter side, sturdy like someone who plays rugby or something similar. Confident, animated, he’s got a group of people before him and is regaling them with something amusing, no doubt something only the rich know or care about. Emma takes Erik’s arm and leads him over to the man, whose attention focuses on them instantly. He’s pale, a few freckles across his nose, his lips well-shaped and pink, very kissable, Erik reflects. 

“Emma!” the man says. “Darling, how are you?” His accent is British, and he kisses Emma’s cheek.

“I’m well. Erik, this is my friend Charles Xavier,” Emma says. “Charles, this is Erik Lehnsherr, leader of the Mutant Brotherhood.”

“Ah! Yes, hello,” Charles Xavier says, low and a smile in his voice, focused solely on Erik now. His eyes are sky blue, a color that has Erik staring to see if they’re real. “You have a lovely mutation,” Charles adds, admiration tinting his voice, some fascination as well. 

No one’s ever told Erik he has a lovely mutation, and he feels his neck getting hot. He ignores Emma’s chuckle. “One of my abilities is identifying mutants and their mutations,” Charles adds, somewhat prompting, because Erik seems tongue-tied, he realizes. 

He clears his throat. “That sounds incredibly useful,” he says, and really, it does. Extremely useful….

“It is,” Charles agrees. Emma asks whether he’s found anyone interesting lately.

Erik, who’s had a cocktail or two, looks at the V exposed by the spread of Charles’ collar, and wants to dip his tongue into the hollow of his throat, trace it along the elegant line of his collarbone, kiss his way up his smooth pale neck, inhaling his clean scent and tasting his skin before nuzzling at his slightly stubbled jaw. He’s only somewhat paying attention to what Charles is saying, which is unusual for him, and he’s only vaguely aware of it. Emma nudges him.

“Charles is,” she says, smirking knowingly at Erik, “one of the most powerful mutants—and most powerful telepaths—in the world.”

Charles offers his hand; he’s smiling, color on his cheeks and ears, a knowing twinkle in his eye that matches Emma’s. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Erik.” _I beg your pardon, Erik, I did catch a bit of that but in my defense you were thinking it very loudly_. He winks before drinking some champagne and licking his lips, and for Erik, that’s it. 

He is, as Emma puts it, “obsessed.”

\-------

And now he does have his mouth on Charles’ neck, Charles being pressed between himself and the wall of his library, neither of them having the patience right now to get any clothes off, even their blazers, yet expressing their frustration with the clothes in their way by pushing, pulling, folding, digging in to find bare skin where they can. Charles laughs suddenly, breathless, clutching at Erik’s bare skin under his shirt.

“I’ve always wanted to fuck on the floor of this library, but wouldn’t this be easier in my bedroom?” He rolls his hips against Erik’s, rubbing his hardness firmly against Erik’s, separated by far too many items of clothing.

“That sounds like a challenge,” Erik mutters, grinning, and Charles laughs. 

“Not everything is a challenge, my friend. As much as we’d enjoy a quick rutting on the floor, I’d like to do this properly and the things are all in my bedroom.”

“We need ‘things’?” Erik asks.

“If I’m going to fuck you, you’ll most definitely want some ‘things,’” Charles answers, firm. “And you’ve been waiting for this for a long time, you can wait a few moments more.”

“I haven’t—” Erik begins, and then stops.

“It’s all right to want things,” Charles tells him mildly. Before Erik can answer, Charles kisses him, a brief pressing of lips. The casual, assuming kiss of an assured lover.

\-------

In Charles’ bedroom it starts to hit him that he’s really in Charles’ bed, lying back with his clothes being methodically stripped from him. Their blazers and shoes are forgotten on the floor, and Charles is unbuttoning his shirt, spreading it open, kissing down his chest. Erik hastily shrugs it off. 

“Undo your belt for me, please,” Charles says, and Erik, feeling his face grow hot, does, with his power. Charles takes his time unbuttoning the single button of Erik’s trousers. “Your zip now, please,” he says. And Erik draws his zipper down, closing his eyes against the feeling of it sliding along the swelling of his erection.

Charles rubs his palm firmly against Erik’s cock through his underwear, and Erik can’t help arching up into the touch, his breath catching.

“I’d like to blow you first,” Charles remarks, thoughtful, still rubbing him.

\-------

Exasperatingly, once Erik has spent some more time in Charles’ company (always with others around) and experienced his viewpoint of mutant rights, his interest doesn’t lessen. It’s frustrating because Charles is wrong, but so kind in his dissent that Erik can’t bring about the explosive confrontation he wishes for. But then, circumstances are such that he doesn’t see Charles often anyway. He nonetheless keeps up with what he’s doing, to the point where Emma notices and teases him about it, asking if she needs to throw another fundraiser, perhaps a ball this time, so they can dance.

When he does actually see Charles, the man is such a flirt that it’s distracting. But Erik can’t tell for sure whether Charles is just naturally flirting with everyone or if he’s really trying to make a play for Erik, and is just friendly with everyone else as a matter of course. Charles is really very charming. But he never asks Erik out, even if he does seem to let his gaze linger on him, even if he does seem to bite and lick his very red lips around Erik a bit more than he really should. So Erik assumes he’s not really interested, and decides maybe that’s just as well.

\-------

“Sit on the edge of the bed,” Charles tells him, and then gets up to kneel on the floor. He blinks up at Erik, expectant.

Erik gulps, and nods. As he sits, his hands curl in the bedclothes; he instinctively seeks out the metal in the room, wanting something to hold onto, but unfortunately Charles’ bed is almost all wood. That’s fine; he’ll manage.

Charles pulls his underwear and trousers down and out of the way, and Erik exhales as his cock springs free. Charles hums, the sound low and sensual. “You have a beautiful cock, Erik,” he says, and Erik feels himself going hot all over, embarrassed because that’s such a corny thing to say and because Charles Xavier, he of the blowjob lips, is saying it to him, and in all sincerity. He’s going to remember Charles’ exact tone and cadence for future wank sessions, he’s certain.

After wrapping a hand loosely around him and then giving him a light squeeze, Charles exhales a warm breath over his cock, slides his slightly parted lips very lightly up its length, and glides his tongue over the head until Erik is leaking and twitching—a state he doesn’t take very long at all to reach. He’s breathing hard already, fingers tightening in the bedclothes and feeling sweat on his palms when Charles takes the head of his cock in his mouth, stroking lightly over it with the flat of his tongue, swallowing his precum. Erik manages to open his eyes—having not realized he’d closed them—to look at him, feeling his heart start to pound at the sight. 

Charles Xavier with his mouth around Erik’s cock, his usually smooth and sleek hair a bit disheveled, his ears and cheeks pink. 

He straightens up a bit to move forward and take him in, as much as he can, and Erik shudders. As Charles moves slowly up and down, tongue working him over, Erik has to take deep breaths to calm himself. 

As he’s getting worked up again, Charles stops moving, and Erik’s brain takes a moment to catch up as his body calms down. He’s a little frustrated, it must be admitted, and he wonders what Charles is on about, if he doesn’t like what he’s doing after all. But then he starts moving again, up and down, tongue working, and Erik lets his arousal ratchet up again. Once more, Charles stops. Erik lets a little sound of frustration escape his throat.

 _Patience, my friend_ , Charles teases, his mind dipping into Erik’s, his very blue eyes meeting Erik’s.

Once Erik’s calmed, Charles does it again, and Erik catches on. “Charles,” he says aloud, surprised by how ragged and desperate he sounds, groaning as Charles’ tongue slides up the underside of his cock. Charles sends him a mental smile. 

“Can you do that with just your mind?” Erik asks, breathless. “Can you keep going and—stop me with your mind? Make me come only when you want me to?”

_Are you speculating or is that what you want?_

“It’s what I want. You have a gift, use it.”

Charles draws off, then weighs Erik’s balls on his tongue, drawing them into his mouth, first with one and then the other, making Erik slump with a rush of arousal. He wraps his hand around Erik’s cock again, tighter this time, wanking him briefly with a hot, firm grip before taking him in his mouth again. All the while, Erik can feel him in his mind, an uncanny tickling feeling of Charles monitoring his arousal, stoking it and then bringing it down. He’s moving, he realizes, in time with Charles’ motions. Charles realizes too.

 _Come on, Erik. Move. Fuck my mouth_.

Erik rocks his hips, thrusting into Charles’ mouth as he keeps it still, lips just tight enough around him. They’re quick, shallow thrusts. Charles puts his hands on Erik’s hips to slow him when Erik’s as deep as he can go, and draws off, slow and tight. _I could honestly do this all day_ , he says. _I’ve wanted to do this to you since I first saw you_.

Erik falls back on his elbows. He feels like he’s dissolving; he’s very close, would already be coming if he hadn’t handed Charles the control of his responses. But Charles has blocked him from attaining release; it’s a strange feeling, being more aroused than he might ever have been, and to only have it build more and more. 

_I’ll let you_ , Charles reassures him, head bobbing steadily. _All in good time. Then I’m going to fuck you and let you feel what it’s like for me_.

“Yes,” Erik whispers. He’d almost forgotten Charles wanted to fuck him. 

_Or perhaps_ , Charles adds, _I’ll make you wait, and make you come only on my cock_.

“You wouldn’t,” Erik gasps, but his cock jumps in Charles’ mouth at the idea, and they both notice it. He’d be half-mad with desperation then, and he can well imagine the entire ordeal giving him an aneurysm. On the other hand, what a way to go.

This highly amuses Charles. _I’m not going to kill you with sex, Erik_.

“But you could.”

 _But I could. Shall I let you come now?_ Charles is clearly wondering aloud, as it were, not asking Erik his opinion. He slides the point of his tongue over Erik’s slit, sending a deep shudder through him, and then takes him in again as deep as he can go. 

_Now_ , he says, and suddenly the dam breaks, and Erik comes down Charles’ throat.

\-------

“You could have made me wait,” Erik rasps, still trembling all over, barely able to sit up on his elbows, and slick with sweat. 

Charles, looking him over, raises a brow skeptically, and runs his hands up Erik’s thighs as he stands. 

“You could have,” Erik insists, even though he knows Charles made the right decision, and then he trails off as he realizes Charles is taking his clothes off. He can barely take in the sight—pale, firm, freckled, surprisingly muscular—before Charles is pulling Erik’s trousers off the rest of the way, and then his underwear, and then deftly taking “things” from a drawer next to his bed. 

In only his socks, Erik is crowded back more toward the middle of the bed by a naked Charles Xavier on his knees and one hand, with slick fingers and a pleased smile, a condom on his very red cock.

“So like this, then?” Erik asks, legs spread over Charles’ thighs.

“I think so, yes,” Charles says, flushed all over and breathless. He’s been patient and focused on Erik prior to now, and Erik wants to see him lose control, get caught up in his own need.

“You don’t let people do this often, do you?” Charles asks. 

“Are you reading my mind?” Erik blinks.

“No,” Charles says, two fingers slickly probing Erik, “merely guessing.”

“You’re guessing correctly,” Erik tells him, and Charles withdraws those fingers and sinks his cock inside him, Erik inhaling as he adjusts, legs going around Charles’ hips to pull him in. It’s all happened very quickly. He feels crowded in by Charles, overwhelmed by him, but he doesn’t mind.

“Show me,” he rasps. “You said you’d show me what it was like.”

“I did say that,” Charles breathes, and he sinks into Erik’s mind as he presses his face into the side of his neck.

He feels Charles’ affection for him, a desire for him: him, Erik, personally, and actually… it’s a longing of the soul. Something in Charles sees Erik the way no one really has, recognizes him as a kindred spirit. That revealing hurts Erik, somehow, hurts him deep somewhere he can’t reach, can’t soothe. Because Erik knows exactly how he feels. He’s been afraid of this, afraid that once things got started with Charles there would be no way to go back. But perhaps things started without Erik realizing it the moment they met.

“Is that what you meant?” Charles asks, raising up to look down at him, changing his angle and fucking into him.

“No,” Erik admits, mouth dry, blinking up at Charles. 

_More like this, then?_ Charles’ mind feeds him an intense physical pleasure: how much he likes having Erik under him and around him in a purely carnal sense. How much he’d loved having Erik’s cock in his mouth, how much he glories in his body. And he wants more, he has no intention of this being the last time they’re together. Anything he can do with Erik, he wants.

Erik pulls Charles down to kiss him, arching up and moving with him, wrapping more tightly around him. Charles is getting shivery and hot, gasping, losing control, and Erik feels his heart clench at the thought of Charles Xavier losing his composure with him, because of him. Soon enough, Charles is panting, making soft sounds in his throat, but he’s reluctant to stop kissing Erik, so he comes gasping into Erik’s mouth, sending him a strong echo of his orgasm, which rolls through Erik like waves crashing on a shore.

\-------

Naked, Charles walks back into his bedroom and climbs on the bed to drape himself over Erik, who reflexively puts an arm over him. Charles hums and presses his face into the curve between Erik’s neck and shoulder, and relaxes onto him. Soon enough, the cool air from Charles’ ceiling fan starts to chill them, and they get under the covers, which are no doubt some obscenely finely woven exotic cotton. Charles lies half on him, and as much as Erik doesn’t usually like it when someone’s in his space, he doesn’t seem to mind when it’s Charles. Maybe because he senses from Charles a deep hunger for bodily contact. 

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know.” Charles’ voice is muffled, and Erik is startled from almost dozing off.

“I’m not alone, Charles. I have the Brotherhood.”

Charles says, after a pause, “That’s not exactly what I mean, and I think you know that.”

Erik pretends he doesn’t know what Charles means, because what he does mean is too good to be true. And besides…. “I don’t need your help, Charles.”

“You needed it at that protest,” Charles says almost immediately. “And I need you.” He shifts on his side to regard Erik, who looks at him a long time.

“To plan a march?” Erik asks finally.

“More than that.” Quietly, Charles adds, “I’m going to tell you something I’ve not yet told anyone else. Not even my sister.”

Erik waits. He might be holding his breath.

“Part of my plan to help bolster the mutant community,” Charles says, “is to start a boarding school. My parents left me some property upstate, and… I’d like to use it as a safe haven. I’d like it if you helped me.”

Astonishing, all of it. “Why me? I doubt you’d want encourage minors in the ways of the Brotherhood,” Erik says, wry, although the thought of Charles needing him makes part of him want to say _yes, yes, anything_.

“Erik, someone as devoted and determined as you are… you could do great things this way. Imagine, helping young mutants feel wanted and understood, together, knowing they’re not alone. Helping them with their powers.” His eyes are wide, voice low and impassioned. The room is dimly lit, but Erik thinks he might be tearing up. “We could help the world see how valuable we are.”

That phrasing doesn’t sit well with Erik, however. “We’re more than our value to humans.”

“Of course we are. We can help them see that. Help them see happy, successful mutants. Instead of fearing us, they can work with us.”

Erik sighs. “Charles.”

“Won’t you at least consider it, Erik?”

“They’ll always be afraid of us. We’re destined to overtake them. It’s already happening.”

“Humans aside, surely you agree that we ought to have a safe haven for mutants, where they can be protected and learn.”

“I do,” Erik admits.

“Can you do that with me, at least?”

“As what?” An investor? Surely not, Erik didn’t come from money. A teacher? Erik wasn’t the teaching type. ...As a partner? In what sense?

“However you want to be involved.”

Erik sighs, and can’t help a chuckle. “Is it really fair to ask me important questions when we’re naked?”

“Life isn’t fair,” Charles counters, smiling. “And is that a yes?”

“Yes, Charles, I’ll help you. I can’t promise anything beyond that, however.”

“We’ll see.” Charles shifts to kiss his forehead; not expecting a kiss there, Erik feels himself fall a little more for Charles. 

It seems, however, that this is a feeling he’s going to have to get used to.


End file.
